Chapter 2 - Inside Room 9
The wooden door of Room 9 had water damage along its bottom edge, swollen from years of Ohio rain and peeling green paint.
Jade pushed the door open, guiding Cora inside while closing the large black umbrella.
The room smelled of lemon bleach, damp carpet, and the faint, sweet aroma of cinnamon instant oatmeal.
A small space heater hummed loudly in the corner, radiating a weak orange glow toward two twin beds pushed against the paneled wall.
Sitting on the edge of the far bed was a four-year-old boy named Mikey, wearing mismatched flannel pajamas, building a tower out of plastic bottle caps.
"Cora!" Mikey cheered, looking up with bright, messy hair. "Did you find it?"
"Shh, Mikey!" Cora whispered frantically, placing a finger against her lips. "Where's Mom?"
"In the bathroom, scrubbing the work uniforms," Mikey whispered back, pointing his tiny finger toward the cracked door.
The sound of running water and rhythmic scrubbing stopped abruptly.
The door swung open, and a young woman stepped out, wiping her soapy hands on a faded yellow dishtowel.
Sarah Bennett was thirty years old today, though the deep circles beneath her hazel eyes added five years of silent exhaustion.
She wore an oversized gray sweatshirt with frayed cuffs, faded denim jeans, and her chestnut hair was pulled into a messy knot with a pencil.
Yet despite the hollow exhaustion in her cheeks, there was a quiet, luminous grace in the way she held her shoulders.
"Cora Jane Bennett," Sarah scolded gently, though relief flooded her face the moment she saw her daughter.
"Where on earth have you been? I told you not to leave the motel walkway while it was raining!"
Then Sarah noticed Jade standing in the doorway, and the white bakery box held securely in Cora's arms.
Sarah froze, her brow furrowing with sudden worry.
"Jade? What happened? Did she wander into the bakery again?"
"Mom, don't be mad," Cora said, taking two careful steps forward and holding the box up like a sacred offering.
"Happy birthday."
Sarah stared at the bakery box, her throat visibly tightening as her hand dropped to her side.
"Cora... baby... what is this?"
"It's vanilla buttercream," Cora said, her voice trembling with pride and joy.
"From Reeves Bakery. Mrs. Beth had a disaster cake that came out too small, so she sold it to me for my coins."
"One dollar and thirty-four cents."
"I told you cake isn't wasting money on someone's birthday."
Sarah looked down at the tiny white box tied with blue string.
She knew Beth Reeves.
She knew a vanilla buttercream cake at Reeves Bakery cost twenty-eight dollars, an entire day's pay at the diner after taxes.
She knew Mrs. Beth had taken the child's small jar of coins so Cora's pride would remain whole.
A sudden, overwhelming sob broke from Sarah's chest, and she dropped to her knees on the thin carpet.
She pulled Cora into her arms, burying her face into the damp collar of her daughter's purple winter coat.
"Oh, sweetheart," Sarah wept, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, soaking into Cora's hair.
"You shouldn't have spent your piggy bank on me."
"You saved those coins for six months for the school field trip."
"The zoo isn't important, Mom," Cora murmured, resting her chin on Sarah's shoulder.
"You're important."
"Thirty is a big year. You said so."
Jade stood by the door, tears shining in her eyes, looking down at the worn carpet to give the family their moment.
Mikey abandoned his bottle caps, toddling across the floor and throwing his small arms around his mother's waist.
"Happy birthday, Mommy!" Mikey beamed, kissing her wet cheek with sticky lips.
Sarah laughed through her tears, hugging both of her children tightly against her heart.
In the midst of a leaking motel room, with an eviction notice lurking in the background and forty dollars left in her checking account,
The world felt miraculously, breathtakingly warm.
Then a soft, respectful knock sounded on the open doorframe.
May you like
Jade stepped aside.
Standing in the dim light of the breezeway was David Callen, holding a manila folder in his left hand.
